Okay. I own in excess of 1800 books, and have read every damn one of them.
I graduated college with a 4.0, and am still a member of the academic honors society I was nominated for in my major.
I shot Expert Marksman in the service with an M-16 rifle, and qualified above average with the M-60 machine gun, .50-caliber machine gun, and M-203 grenade launcher. (I also qualified with the old M-1 Garand, just for funsies.)
I always know which way is North.
I can quote the opening paragraphs of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in the original Middle English.
I have read virtually everything that H.P. Lovecraft, Rudyard Kipling, John Steinbeck, Leon Uris, Len Deighton, Barbara Michaels, Jack Higgins, Dean Koontz, and Louis L’Amour ever wrote.
I have a front yard that is plagued with ants, woodchucks, gophers, dog holes, weed nests, tree stumps, and old concrete foundations, and still looks fabulous from the road.
I live six and a half miles from the World’s Biggest Swimming Pool, i.e. Lake Michigan.
I married the finest woman in the Western Hemisphere.
I can jabber in at least six languages, and I’m fairly good at at least two.
I’m damn near an expert at Nazi history, and I can tell you the difference between a member of the Waffen-SS, Allgemeine-SS, Stormtroops, Luftwaffe, Wehrmacht, Kriegsmarine, Hitlerjugend, and Reichspolizei by just a casual glance at the uniforms. (I drive friends nuts at war movies by pointing out all the discrepencies on the screen.)
I have been published. (Woo-woo!)
I can cook. I can do laundry. I make beds. I do dishes. I vacuum the carpets. I even do windows. And I am male. My wife adores me.
I can discourse at length on most any silly subject that comes up on SDMB threads…